The Chase
by resile
Summary: It's 1997 and Hardy's a new constable in Sandbrook. He's seen a few things tonight that are a bit hard to explain. Broadchurch x Harry Potter x Marvel crossover. No Broadchurch spoilers as this takes place long before the show. Three-way crossover prompted by Weezly14.


He's not used to tracking criminals on foot, new to the Sandbrook Police as he is, and he can hardly believe his luck that _he_ gets to chase this bloke (really, it's quite invigorating). The man he's chasing - 30s, white, blond, male - had brandished a stick at him with a cold, ferocious look in his eyes. A stick! And then he'd run away.

Hardy had caught him red handed in what looked like an aggravated assault and battery. The blond man had pressed that thin wooden instrument (wand?) against the throat of his victim: about the same age, brown haired, bearded, and extremely weary looking. Well, it was an armed assault, if one can be 'armed' with a thin little stick, in the technical sense. He'd have to look at the criminal code for the statutory definition of a weapon in the context of armed assault before he decided what to charge this man with - that is, if he could catch him.

Since joining the Sandbrook police department, Hardy's mostly been giving out traffic tickets, breaking up the occasional pub fight, and taking in a person or two for driving impaired. Even though he has ambitions of becoming a detective (maybe even making DS someday, he's going to sit for his first examination next spring), this is the most exciting thing that's happened to him in his short time as a constable.

The streets are empty, and it's after midnight, and Hardy almost has him - _almost_ - when the man turns around and fires off some sort of incendiary device (actually, it almost looks like a fireball came _out of the stick_) that detonates mere metres away from his head, turning an old Volkswagen into a smoking pile of metal.

Perhaps against his better judgment, Hardy just speeds up his pace. He was on foot when this all started, and he has no way to call for backup, but maybe it's better this way. If he can just _catch_ this guy, he knows he'll impress the Superintendent.

He's calling after the man, cursing the fact that he doesn't have so much as a stun gun, when he realizes the victim of the assault, this bearded, tired man, has actually _caught up with them_ and is pointing a very similar stick at the man.

"Stupefy!" the bearded man shouts, and a red light bursts from the stick, narrowly missing the criminal's back.

Oh, what the bloody hell. Whatever sort of weapon that is, he'd certainly like to see the man's permit.

"Hold on just a minute," Hardy yells as the victim somehow pulls ahead of him, and suddenly he's chasing both of them.

The victim turns and, wide-eyed, cries, "Do yourself a favor and find some cover!"

"Me?" Hardy blinks in surprise, bemusement quickly giving way to irritation. "You find some cover!" He grabs for his badge, points it at the man. "Sandbrook Police!"

"Well, Sandbrook Police, I promise you, you are not prepared to deal with—-"

The man is cut off by a flash of green that misses him by mere inches. He swears under his breath and yells something in… Latin? Whatever it is, it corresponds perfectly with a white flash from the man's… wand… which, again, misses the blond bloke, ricocheting noisily off of a street sign up ahead.

"Stop!" Hardy yells, wishing for just a second that he had a gun like an American police officer, even if he isn't very fond of weapons.

Speaking of weapons, the blond man, still running, still shooting green flashes of light at the bearded man, is suddenly shot in the thigh with an arrow, which, whatever else Hardy was confused about with respect to thin wooden sticks that can remotely trigger flashes of light and explosions, he truly does not expect. The blond man stops (understandably) and looks down at his leg, then up at the bearded man.

Though he's a hundred yards away, standing in the middle of the empty street, and pointing at his own throat with the wand, Hardy can still hear him perfectly (loudly, even) when he says, "Remus Lupin. Is the Muggle-loving mongrel resorting to Muggle-weapons now? Physical injuries are so much easier to heal than magical, but rest assured you and your blood traitor wife will be repaid… exponentially."

The man, Lupin, shouts at him, "It wasn't me!" He gives a little ironic shrug.

Eyes cold, the blond man looks around in obvious curiosity, and is promptly shot with an arrow in the opposite thigh. He doesn't fall, barely even reacts, until, a second later, he turns on the spot and…. disappears.

Well.

That was… well.

Lupin curses under his breath and starts to spin, as well, but Hardy grabs the back of his coat before he can… do whatever it was that other man just did.

"Officer Hardy, Sandbrook Police! Do I need to say it again? And I'll need you to hand over that weapon."

The other man shakes off his grip and turns toward Hardy, offering a weak smile.

"I'm very sorry you got caught up in this, but I really can't stay and chat. Please let me go; I'd really rather not have to Obliviate you."

"Where's your archer friend? What is this, some sort of recreational club gone sour?"

Lupin frowns, worrying his lip with his teeth. "I really have no idea who shot him."

"That'd be me," says a voice behind them. Hardy turns and sees a brown-haired man, about twenty five or thirty, dressed all in black (is that _leather_?), bow and arrows slung across his back. The man stares at them, arms folded, expression serious and touched with arrogance.

"And who are _you_?" Hardy looks between the two men, totally flummoxed.

"Not important." Arrow-man looks at Lupin, instead, ignoring Hardy altogether. "You two - mutants?"

Lupin shakes his head. "Wizards."

Arrow-man nods in understanding, then jerks his head in the direction of where the blond had stood. "Death Eater?"

Lupin nods.

He whistles out loud, apparently impressed, running a gloved hand against the back of his head. "Best of luck with all that."

Hardy lets out what can only be described as a growl, closing his eyes in frustration for half a second. He's about to demand (_again_) that the two men fork over their weapons and bloody _listen _when he says he's police and, for that matter, come with him to the station, but he opens his eyes just as he hears a loud cracking noise and finds they're both gone. Gone! His eyes were closed for _less_ than a second - hardly more than a blink, just enough to vent some of the irritation he's felt since giving chase to the _other_ man who disappeared. So of course, they've vanished, too, right into thin air.

He looks around for several moments, retracing his steps to the scene of the assault. Nothing.

What _is_ left is the smoking rubble of an old Beetle and a damaged street sign. And while he's glad there were no bystanders (they might have been injured by the explosions), he almost wishes someone besides him had been there to witness it all.

He stands in the empty street for several minutes, waiting for something - _anything_ - else to happen, but all is quiet.

Suddenly, something occurs to him which makes him groan aloud. Property damage? Disappearing criminals? Unregistered weapons? It can only mean one thing. "_Bloody _paperwork!"


End file.
